


a jacket, returned

by cirrus (themorninglark)



Series: SASO 2017 [46]
Category: Haikyuu!!, Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Challenge: Sports Anime Shipping Olympics | SASO 2017, M/M, team tiny captains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-22 03:02:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11958348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themorninglark/pseuds/cirrus
Summary: Akashi is five minutes early to their meeting, as is his custom. Kita Shinsuke arrives exactly on time, and Akashi will come to learn that that is his custom too.





	a jacket, returned

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [a future, to start](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11722605) by [ewagan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ewagan/pseuds/ewagan). 



> Written for SASO 2017 Bonus Round 6: Remixes | originally posted [here](https://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/24968.html?thread=15732104#cmt15732104) | remix of [this fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11722605)

_A jacket. Returned at the gantry of a train station in suburban Tokyo, neatly folded, lying at the bottom of a paper bag._

Akashi is five minutes early to their meeting, as is his custom. Kita Shinsuke arrives exactly on time, and Akashi will come to learn that that is his custom too. When he greets him with a small bow and takes the bag extended to him, he is surprised to see that Kita has gone to all that trouble; he would have expected any other high school boy to pass him the jacket in a crumpled heap. Any other high school boy, except—well—maybe himself. The invitation to tea or coffee is no casual gratitude, no slip of the tongue. Akashi doesn’t take just anyone to his favourite cafe.

 

_An email address. Written on a torn page from a notebook, the edges straight and true._

The thing about Kita is, he never replies to messages immediately. Neither does he leave you hanging. He has mastered the art of giving you just enough space to breathe, enough time to put your phone away and contemplate the fact that it is 2 AM and your light is the only one on in the street, before he responds. It is a polite distance, respectful, and his answers are always considered. Akashi finds that he enjoys their exchanges: hearing about Atsumu’s antics, how fast Suna is growing, what a formidable serve Osamu’s developed. In turn, he shares little pieces of himself, even tries to repeat one of Mibuchi’s more off-colour jokes. Though he can’t quite deliver it the same way, he thinks it amuses Kita nonetheless. When the gap between messages starts shortening, Akashi knows Kita looks forward to this as much as he does.

 

_A light novel. A tale about journeys, a girl and her talking motorcycle, and never settling._

_The world is not beautiful, therefore it is._ Kita had said that, once, in a text, and it had stayed with Akashi; he asks about it a few weeks later, and Kita brings the first book with him on his next trip to Tokyo. Akashi confesses he’s not much of a light novel reader, but takes great care to pick out something Kita might like in exchange. They talk of life and choices, of restlessness, of the extraordinary in the ordinary. Akashi gazes out the window on the long ride back, thinks, the seasons are changing.

 

_A fountain pen. Tasteful and elegant in jet black, with silver accents, made to order._

It’s a passing remark. _There’s just something about fountain pens, don’t you think?_ , and Akashi agrees. The next time he goes with his father to meet an old client turned family friend, he shakes his hand and politely inquires if he still takes custom orders. He understands how busy the business is these days—they’ve even got a shop in fashionable Ginza now. _Well, we are busy, but for you, Akashi-kun, of course. It must be for someone special._ Akashi only smiles and sips his tea. He adds, after a moment passes, that it is for someone starting a new phase of his life.

 

_A letter. Received at the gantry of a train station in suburban Tokyo, neatly folded, lying at the bottom of a paper bag._

There is a circularity in all this that Akashi knows Kita finds pleasing, as he does. His first week as a university student has been a whirlwind; coffee with Kita in that cafe of theirs, the still point. He wonders at timing, at chance, at fate. If he had not lost that game, if he had been in a state of mind to remember his jacket, for Akashi does not _forget_ things, not like that, but there are exceptions for everything. Kita Shinsuke, he hopes, is the last and best of them.

Akashi takes the congratulatory cake out of the bag when he gets home, places it in the fridge for supper later. Dark chocolate. The same cake he’d ordered, years ago. It’s then that he notices the envelope with his name on it, written in a poised hand with flowing fountain ink.

Carefully, he breaks the seal, and starts to read the letter within.


End file.
